The Nutcracker
by Ukulala
Summary: Christmas Eve is really a bore this year... and Romano highly doubts that weird little gift from Prussia is going to make things any more interesting.
1. Boredom Busted

_Please excuse my utter lack of chronology, including fudging nation ages and tweaking the time period of superglue._

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><p>"Kid, it's a nut-crac-ker. What do you <em>think<em> you do with it?"

"Don't tell me I'm actually supposed to crack nuts with this thing. And I'm not a freaking _kid_."

"Um, actually, you _don__'__t_ crack nuts with this kind of nutcracker," Prussia admitted, "but it's great for plenty of other shit."

Romano's scowl deepened. "What kind of shit, exactly?"

"Dunno..." Prussia scratched his head, momentarily displacing a very merry looking Gilbird. "You should probably ask someone else these kinds of questions…"

"So you're telling me you gave me a nutcracker that doesn't crack nuts but, in fact, is _great_ for plenty of unknown shit."

"Yeah, glad you figured it out!"

"Why the hell would you even buy something if you don't know what to do with it?"

"I _didn__'__t_ buy it. At least, not that I remember. I was going through some old crap, and thought you might like this! Merry Christmas, Romano." The albino nation grinned, ruffled Romano's hair, and wandered off to a seemingly-empty corner of Austria's parlor, calling, "Yo, Mattie, the hell are you doing hiding over there?"

Growling, Romano flipped off his retreating back, then took another look at the wooden object in his hand. It _was_ rather nice-looking- and there was something weirdly familiar about the dark-haired wooden figure in the cheerful red military uniform. Experimentally, he opened and closed its mouth several times with the lever in the back, then stuck his finger in its mouth, watching the wooden jaw squeeze and release it.

"Enjoying Gilbert's present, querido?"

Romano jumped. "D-don't surprise me like that, b-bastard. A-and don't call me querido_._"

Like his friends, and most of the other male nations, Spain was dressed in a (rather nicely-fitting) suit. "You look like you're finally having a little fun."

"Stupid Christmas Eve party with creepy-ass relatives and nothing to _do_— what a blast."

"The food is very good, though."

"It's mostly gone. America went by and left, like, _nothing._"

"What's that you're holding?" Spain looked curiously at the nutcracker.

"Oh, that? A nutcracker that doesn't freaking crack nuts."

"What's this I hear about cracking nuts, _honhonhon_?"

Great. The French fuckface had decided to show his face.

"Hi, Francis! Gilbert gave Lovi a nutcracker that doesn't crack nuts!"

"_Oui_, it's a little too rigid for _that_…"

"Fuck you, pervert."

"I think this kind of thing is more for decoration, really," Spain remarked. "See? They're adorning the entire hall!~"

Romano looked around, noticing the little wooden men for the first time. "Oh."

"Ah, _oui_, we have them in France, and they bring such joy to the little children." France nodded. "Antoine, Gilbert's been waving us over to the champagne for the last twenty seconds, now. We better get over there before he steps on that chair. Oh, wonderful, he's found Mattieu!"

"Okay!~ Give me a second."

As France flounced off, Spain took a deep breath. "Lovi, I'm sorry, but it's been so long since all us nations were last gathered so pleasantly like this without fighting and arguing. I… I think you should take advantage of that, and maybe meet some nations your age! Before you know it, everyone'll be going home, and you can pick a room and get some rest before we head home tomorrow morning.."

"I still can't believe we have to spend the night here at the prissy-bastard's house, with creepy Hungary and her… frying-pan-weapon-thing." Romano's scowled deepened, and he plunked down on the conveniently located couch.

"It's only one night. Look forward to the pantry full of tomatoes when we get home, _si_?"

"Whatever, bastard."

With a small sigh, Spain left to join the drinkers.

Romano set the nutcracker down in front of him on the couch, brought up his knees, and crossed his arms in general irritation at the world. He supposed he should be thankful that he'd actually gotten a present from someone other than Spain this year (although Francis tended to send him the… _creepiest_ dresses from time to time). The little man stared off into space, apparently lost in randomly swirling drifts of thought as well.

The curtains were drawn open behind the majestic grand piano, showcasing the pretty lights festively twinkling from the snow-covered buildings of Vienna. Romano wasn't fond of snow, pretty though it was—way too cold and stuff when he was used to the sunny, temperate weather of Madrid. Speaking of which, the nutcracker would probably look cool shoved on some random mantel piece in Spain's house… nah, it'd just be one more thing for Romano to have to dust…

"In my country, we have a story about a nutcracker— a ballet, actually."

Romano looked up, and found that Russia had seated himself at the other end of the couch.

Fantastic. The creepiest of creeps had decided to pay him a visit.

Romano ignored him.

"It's very nice. Mr. Tchaikovsky really is a brilliant composer," Russia continued cheerfully, gaze wandering around the parlor, coming to a rest on the dancing nations on the opposite side. "The story is about a little girl named Clara whose uncle gives her a nutcracker on Christmas Eve, and the nutcracker takes her on wonderful adventures. They fight mice, wander in the Land of Snow, visit the Hall of the Sweets-"

"And only a Russian would be crazy enough to dream _this_ up," Romano muttered under his breath.

Russia smiled at Romano. "Did you say something?"

"Did you come over here just to bother me, or something? Don't you have something b-better… to… d-do…" He trailed off. The childlike eyes danced merrily, freaking him out a bit- b-but only a _bit_, of course_._ "N-never mind. Please, go on."

"_Da_. Well, anyways, Clara and the nutcracker visit those lovely places, and the Land of Flowers, and everywhere they go there's dancing and merriment in their honor-"

"Wait, in honor of Clara and a freaking _nutcracker_?"

"Well, the nutcracker transforms into a handsome prince after the battle. Or during. My people have different versions."

"The battle… against the _mice_."

"That is correct! And then, they go to the Land of Snow and… oh, there go Lithuania and Poland! Excuse me." Russia stood and started creepily stalking the two laughing nations.

_Gladly,_ thought Romano.

The talk of candy had made him a little hungry again, so he got off the couch and made his way to the table, hoping that America really _hadn__'__t_ eaten everything. There were a few sugar cookies left, and strangely the American nation was nowhere around them. Curious, Romano looked around for the young nation. Oh, there he was- on the dance floor, laughing and gripping soft-eyed England around the waist as he precariously balanced on the older nation's feet.

It was actually rather heartwarming.

Everywhere, surprisingly, family and friends were mingling, chatting, generally having a good time. Perhaps Austria _did_ have the right idea, after all.

If only _Romano_ weren't so bored.

He was on his fifth sugar cookie when a movement by the couch caught his eye. It was stupid Feliciano and Prussia's weird little brother. Hungary had dressed up his girly brother for the occasion, and he looked… even _more_ girly than usual, in a floofy dress. With _lace_.

Freaking lace!

Feli was holding something, and Germany was telling him to put it down… Something red…

Holy shit, was that what he thought it was?

Romano was over there in a flash with his hands on the nutcracker.

"Oh, fratello, there you are! Vee~, look what I found!"

"Give it back, damn you, it's _mine_!"

"Hey, _I_ found it, so I think it's _mine_..." Feliciano replied brightly.

"Prussia freaking _gave_ it me, dammit," Romano hissed. "No one gave _you_ permission to just… pick it up; I mean, you could break it or something!"

"No fair, fratello, I just want to look at the pretty costume—"

"But it's MIIINE!" And Romano yanked, sending his brother tumbling to the ground behind him, where he immediately burst into tears. Germany, who'd been watching in shock the whole time, gave them both a slightly scared and apologetic look and ran off. Romano smirked, extremely proud of himself… until he looked down at the nutcracker in his hands.

Broken.

It was freaking _broken_, one of its arms snapped off and laying on the carpet.

_Shit._

A small part of Romano vaguely wondered why he was getting so emotional over a wooden toy-decoration-whatever-thing, but the larger part was engulfed in righteous fury. The moment Germany came hurrying over with Prussia, Spain, and France in tow, Romano launched himself at Spain, brandishing the nutcracker and the detached arm.

"About time you got here, bastard. He fucking BROKE OFF THE F—"

He was silenced by a hug, mouth muffled against a warm chest. "Shh, Lovi. I'm sorry, so sorry, but we can fix it, okay? Um… if I may ask… why exactly did you get so emotional over a wooden toy-decoration-thing?"

Romano scowled. "You may _not_ ask."

"_Si.__Lo__siento_.~"

Romano twisted away, and took a quick look at the scene. Austria and Hungary had apparently been summoned by Prussia ("I swear, Liz, I had _nothing_ to do with this!") and Hungary was now trying to calm down Feli ("Yes, dear, we'll make lots and lots of pasta… There, there, dry those tears, off to the kitchen… No, Prussia, you've already pigged out earlier this evening, and you will _not_ set foot in the kitchen while I'm still breathing."). Germany was awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, obviously totally unsure of what to do. France was talking to the air.

"Yes why don't you go find your brother. Gilbert, you _did_ bring along those other charming toys, didn't you?"

"What? Oh, yeah! Yeah, they're really cool."

"Lovi," Spain whispered. "Let's go fix the nutcracker, shall we?"

"Oh, uh… sure." Romano looked at the pieces in his hands, bringing them together in an attempt to match up the splintered edges. "How are we supposed to fix this crap?"

"Hm… good question," Spain mused thoughtfully. "I think I might have a bottle of super glue with my stuff. Come with me to the coatroom, Lovi."

Romano followed him, staring incredulously. "How would someone just _happen_ to have superglue with them?"

"Well, you never know when you need superglue. It's smart to be prepared."

They stepped into the coatroom. Spain quickly located his bag and began rifling through its contents. "Hm… money, crayons, random pad of paper… Ah-hah! Superglue!"

Romano's mouth twitched into the teeniest of smiles. "Unbelievable."

Spain grinned broadly, gently repositioning the nutcracker and arm in Romano's hands.

"Th-thank you," Romano murmured, looking down.

"No problem at all, _querido_. You're so sweet…"

Romano felt his cheeks flushing. "D-don't say things like that."

Spain laughed. "But it's so true!~"

They were quiet as he finished gluing together the nutcracker. When he finally straightened, sighing in satisfaction, the crack was barely visible.

"What do you think?"

Romano carefully turned it over in his hands. "It's… it's really nice," he said quietly.

"It looks a little like me, doesn't it?"

The Italian nation glanced up at Spain, and realized with a start that there _was_ a bit of a resemblance. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. Or something.

"Let's go back to the party, Lovi." Spain took his hand and led him back out the door. "You're probably too old for toy soldiers and ballerina dolls, but Gilbert's are pretty cool! I mean, he's great with that complicated mechanical stuff, so his toys are fun to watch."

"Whatever you say." Romano didn't trust the creepy potato bastard. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if the mechanical toys went berserk and wreaked havoc. Of course, that would make this boring party much more interesting, which would definitely _not_ be a bad thing.

A small cluster of nations were gathered around Prussia, who was smugly admiring a marching life-sized toy soldier.

On the floor at the front of the group was Feli, balancing a bowl of pasta on his lap. "Lovi!~ Veee, the toy soldier is so cool, isn't it? You missed the ballerina doll, which is really sad, because she was so pretty! And she danced so well, it was like she was alive!"

Romano nodded indifferently, watching as Prussia and England leapt forward to drag an overly inquisitive America away from the soldier.

It was quieter back at. The only others around were Switzerland and Liechtenstein, snuggled on a couch by the fire and talking softly. Romano settled himself on a nearby armchair by the glittering Christmas tree, curling up and staring at the nutcracker. So bored… When the hell would this stupid party ever be over so he could go to bed, go home, and eat tomatoes, dammit?

His eyes fell on a little hole behind the tree, and he briefly wondered if Austria's house was infested with rats. _They__'__d_ probably liven things up a bit.

So… very… bored…

…

The first thing Romano noticed when he woke up was that it was completely silent. He supposed the party must have finished and most of guests had gone home. It was also rather dark, although the lights on the tree were still glowing, lending some brightness to the semi-dark parlor.

The next thing he noticed was that he was sitting on the hardwood floor. He staggered to his feet and made to climb back onto the couch to go back to sleep— except that, where the couch should have been, there was a towering wall of fabric.

Slightly weirded out, he glanced back at the Christmas tree, and realized for the first time that it was really, really big.

_Ridiculously_ big.

Either that, or he was…really _small_, but the idea that he'd shrunken was so laughable it wasn't even—

Then he noticed the sounds coming from the not-so-small-anymore hole under the tree— scratching, squeaking sounds.

At this point, Romano was seriously freaked out.

He inched backwards, away from the creepy hole, away from those weird sounds…

"_Boo_."

Romano shrieked and spun around. And shrieked again.

_Dios,__mio_, it was _him_.

"Wh-what the fuck is going on here? Get away from me, b-bastard!"

Turkey smirked., arms crossed and a random scepter in hand. On his head, a regal-looking crown bore the initials _R.K._ "Oh, no, I don't think so. As for what's going on… isn't it obvious? I'm going to kidnap you— and this time, there's no annoying Spain around to stop me. Don't try to resist. My army outnumbers yours several hundred to one."

"I don't even _have_ a freaking army."

"That's my point." Turkey gripped his arm, forcibly turning him around to face the hole in the wall, where… ugh… dozens, _hundreds_ of rats about Romano's size were pouring out, swarming towards them and coming to a halt a short distance away.

"Wh-why the hell are they so b-big?" This was a dream. All a dream. Some weird aftereffect of eating too many sugar cookies or bad mushrooms or something…

"_They__'__re_ normal-sized," Turkey sneered. "You're just _small._"

S-so he _had_ shrunken after all… _No,__no,__just__a__dream,__dammit__…_

"L-let go of me." Romano struggled, pushing away with his free arm. When that didn't work, he launched a kick at Turkey's shin.

Turkey winced, grabbing his other arm. "Ugh, you're so-o-o much work. Oh, well. It'll be worth it."

"Let _go!__"_

Two of the rats scurried forwards, each one grabbing an arm. His kicks were futile. Turkey stepped back, smirking as he dusted off his robes. "Sorry, kid. You're coming with me."

"No, I'm _not!__"_

"That's right, Lovi!"

!

Romano's head jerked in the direction of that voice, that oh-so-welcome voice. About _time_ he came… and the sound of marching feet approaching meant that he'd brought an army, too, which was very good.

Turkey cursed, glaring in that direction. "The fool."

"Antonio!" Romano yelled, struggling again. "What's taking you so long? Wh— Holy—"

Spain and his army had come around the corner and they… and they…

It was an army of nutcrackers.

And Spain, who was also their size, was dressed almost like— no, _exactly_ like that nutcracker Prussia had given him.

What the hell had Romano eaten to dream up _this_ shit?

"_Spain_."

"_Turkey__"_

"_Spaaain."_

"_Tuuurkey."_

They glared at each other.

"Get out of here. This is none of your business."

"Anything that involves Lovi is my business. I thought I told you to leave him alone and never let me see you again?"

Turkey rolled his eyes. "Did you really think I'd just meekly go along with whatever you said?"

"You were stupid not to. Release him immediately."

"Not likely."

At once, Spain drew his big, wicked-looking battle-ax (from freaking _nowhere_) and Turkey drew a pair of long, evil-looking scimitars.

Romano watched nervously as their eyes narrowed. Then, simultaneously, they yelled out.

"_Advance_!"


	2. Candy Canes and Cheese Brains

_Ahaha… I've mentioned to some of you, I'm dancing in this ballet this weekend (gah, my feet will be dead from all the pointe work), and this scene, The Battle, is one of the one's I'm in. I'm on the rat side.~_

_..._

_Hey, stop yelling at me! It's not _my_ fault!  
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><p>It was Romano's nightmare come to life— Turkey coming back to take him away, a fiery, bloody war to decide his fate…<p>

…except that here, instead of a clash between the mighty Hasburg and Ottoman empires, the sides consisted of an army of nutcrackers and a barrage of rats.

Didn't make it any less terrifying.

As the armies collided, bright red mixed with grey. Form melted into a blur of dancing colors. To Romano's dismay, Spain melted into the flurry, out of sight. Not his satisfaction, so did Turkey.

The mice carried crudely made swords and spears that looked like they'd be rather painful if they came in contact with his flesh. He decided to avoid them.

Yes. Avoiding lethal-looking weaponry was probably a very good idea.

As for the nutcracker army… Wait, were those _candy __canes_ they were carrying? Good lord, Romano was _so_ screwed…

He was mildly surprised when the two rats latched onto his arms jerked him out of harm's way, behind a… well, it looked like a sparkly, cubular building with huge strips of fabric running up the edges, so it was probably a gift. This time, he didn't struggle. Once they'd reached relative safety, Romano turned on the rats. "What the hell do you guys want with me?" he demanded, though he didn't really expect a reply, what with them being rats and all…

One of the rats shrugged. "Dunno. We're just doin' what the boss tells us to do."

"Yah," The other rat nodded. "He promised cheeeese."

Romano stared. Okay… in less than fifteen minutes, he'd been shrunken to the size of rats, been captured by rats, and (most horrific of all) ran into Turkey, the boss of the rats who seemed to be behind all this shit.

He supposed he could accept talking rats.

"Cheese?" he asked.

"Yah," the second rat murmured dreamily. "Cheeeese."

"We like cheese," the first rat added fervently.

"Uh… I can tell." Romano peeked around the gift/building/gigantic-feat-of-wrapping-paper-architecture. The din of battle was getting pretty loud; a few cannons had been hauled out from who-knows-where, and were emitting bangs of smoke every time they fired projectiles that looked suspiciously like peppermints. Romano was impressed the other residents of Austria's household hadn't come barreling out of bed to see what was up. Every now and then, Spain or Turkey would emerge from battle, then plunge back in before Romano could be sure he'd actually seen them. He _did_ want to help— after all, Spain and all those nutcrackers were fighting for _him_— but he also wanted to… uh… stay out of the way. Spain would probably want that, anyways.

A-and it wasn't like Romano didn't have troubles of his own. It wasn't the two rats that bothered him, though.

What made him really nervous were those very massive-looking ornaments hanging high above him. They probably wouldn't squish him, but he really preferred not to get a concussion or broken limb or something.

On the battlefield (a.k.a. loungy-space of Austria's parlor) the bloodshed had begun. Rats were falling (yay!~), but so were nutcrackers (aw…). Whenever a rat went down, it was as anyone would expect. When it was a nutcracker, he'd lay strewn out and twitching, all… discombobulated.

Actually, he was a little surprised the nutcrackers could even bring down any mice, on account of their… _unconventional_ selection of weaponry, but they were actually really good with those candy canes, bonking and hooking and stabbing with the sharpened points.

Surprise seemed to be stalking him tonight. It was a little creepy.

Behind him, the rats were still vocalizing their cheese dreams to each other and talking about how cheese totally beats bread-crumb-shit.

A loud, piercing cry sounded over the clashing of weapons and shouts from the soldiers- a cry of pain and fury that made Romano recoil just hearing it. It was too high, and he couldn't tell if it was Turkey (boo-yeah!) or Spain (God forbid the bastard get hurt and leave him all _alone,_ dammit).

As more soldiers went down, the battle started to thin, the furor and confusion slowly ebbing away, until there were only several dozen pairs left dueling. They'd migrated all over the parlor- the carpet, the hearth, the mantelpiece high above (how the hell did they get up _there?_), and as Romano craned his neck to see, he spotted a group fighting on the keys and place-where-sheet-music-goes of the piano.

He started laughing, thinking about how pissed-off Austria would've been if he'd seen, and it felt good to laugh after having been bored and then freaked out all evening. He was so busy imagining the prissy-bastard's face, he almost didn't realize it when, abruptly, a hush fell over the room.

Most of the combatants were either down or, in the case of the rats, had fled back through the hole in the wall. The remaining victorious nutcrackers had fallen silent, and were watching something that was taking place just a meter or so away from the tree. Romano strained his eyes, and as the smoke and dust cleared, he could make out two figures dueling intensely, scimitars against battle-ax.

"Surrender, fool. Your cowardly army has left you." Spain punctuated every word with a swing of his ax.

Turkey ducked to the side, scimitars slicing with audible rushes of wind. "Hah. Not completely true. OI, YOU TWO UNDER THE TREE! GET OUT HERE AND BACK ME UP!"

Romano felt the rats' grips on his arms loosen, and he twisted around. They didn't notice, too busy staring in shock and horror towards the sound of their boss' voice.

"B-but you said we wouldn't hafta fight! We're supposed to guard this kid—"

"I'm not a kid!" Romano protested heatedly, at the same time that Turkey yelled, "Screw that, I'm your boss and you're gonna DO AS I SAY!"

"B-but—"

"LOOK, DO YOU -_hiss,__swipe-_ WANT YOUR –_dodge,__stab-_ PAYMENT _–__dodge-_ OR NOT?"

The two rats looked at each other. "Um…" One of them scratched his snout. "I think… we'd better… _not_ stick around…"

"Yeah," the other rat agreed.

They both gave Romano a quick, apologetic glance, then bolted off through the hole.

…

Well, then.

Romano tiptoed around the corner of the gift box-building. Turkey was cursing under his breath, but still determinedly fighting on. Spain had a blazing, determined look in his eyes, as if… as if Romano was his most precious possession and he'd never, ever let him get taken away. His battle-ax was little more than a blur as it swung, barely being parried by Turkey's scimitars. Romano watched breathlessly as one of the Balkan nation's blows sliced towards Spain's undefended left shoulder, and he gasped as it buried itself a few inches deep, block from going all the way through only by the hilt of the ax. Spain grit his teeth. "Lucky hit, Turkey."

"You poor thing. Does it huuurt?" Turkey sneered evilly, eyes leering from behind his creepy mask.

"Not enough for me to stop." Spain jerked away with a wince, violently freeing himself from the blade.

They resumed fighting, but Romano could sense that Spain was weakening, the pain in his arm slowing him down. He couldn't swing the ax properly with both hands, and one hand wasn't nearly as effective. It wasn't long before Turkey started pushing him back, pushing him towards the wall, where he'd be cornered…

That idiot. Why didn't he frickin get his nutcracker-buddies to help out, already?

Turkey seemed to be wondering the same thing. "Why aren't those pathetic wooden guys of yours here to help you out? Too scared?"

Spain's eyes flashed. "They are far less cowardly and pathetic than your rats, Turkey. I've ordered them to stay back. This is our fight."

"Oh, you're choosing honor over victory. How very… honorable."

Romano briefly wondered when they'd stop exchanging clichés, but he couldn't find it in himself to be bored.

For better or worse.

He grimaced as they got closer and closer to the wall. _Ugh,__ stupid__ Spain,__don__'__t__ be__ so__ frickin__… __stupid__ and__ honorable! __Get__ one __of__ those __friendly__ nutcracker-dudes __to __stab __him__ in __the__ back __or__ something, __dammit!_

Finally, Spain was against the wall, the sole of one boot pressed against it. He growled, relentlessly sending blow after blow that barely grazed the other's body.

"Surrender, idiot."

"_Never_."

"Don't be stupid." As a blade of the ax came soaring down towards his head, Turkey raised his swords, blocking the ax and sending it flying off, far out of reach. With a triumphant expression, he crossed his scimitars in front of Spain's throat, tips against the wall. "You're finished."

"NO!"

Without thinking, Romano sprinted at him, snatching up a fallen nutcracker's pointy-candy cane-weapon-thing and hurling it at Turkey, who turned in surprise, receiving it squarely between the eyes. "The fu—"

"Lovi, get out of here!"

"You crazy jerk, get your hands off of him!" Romano grabbed the candy cane and threw it again with all the force he could muster. Turkey reflexively raised his arms to defend himself, and Spain seized his opportunity to dramatically kick him upside the head. He crumpled to the ground, limp as England after thirteen beers.

They both stared at him, breathing hard. "Is… is he dead?" Romano asked hesitantly.

Spain shook his head. "No… just unconscious. It takes more that a kick to the head to take out a nation, you know."

"Yeah…" Romano felt oddly relieved to hear that. "Um… a-are you o-okay?"

Spain smiled softly. "Yes, _mi__ querido_. I am okay, because of you."

Romano blushed madly, but didn't bother protesting at the endearment. He didn't even struggle much when he was pulled into a tight hug against Spain's warm chest, and was about to go as far as to… l-lean his head on the other's shoulder when Spain gave a tight hiss of pain. Romano jerked away, very glad that the semi-darkness was able to hide his face. "Shit, sorry… your shoulder…"

"It'll heal. Don't worry." Spain pressed a hand against Romano's cheek. "Unlike my heart, which would never have healed if you'd been taken away."

"D-don't say stupid things like that…" Romano muttered, eyes darting everywhere but Spain's.

"Ahaha… but it's so true!~"

"Wh-whatever, Antonio." He didn't notice the way Spain's face lit up, his cheeks tingeing pink with happiness as Romano murmured that statement. In fact, the Italian nation was too busy squinting at the hole through which the rats had disappeared. "That hole is seriously creepy. Why don't Austria and Hungary get it patched up, or something?"

Spain shrugged, still smiling. "I don't know. Maybe they don't know it's there."

"Kind of hard _not_ to notice."

"Would you like me to show you what's in there?"

"What!" Romano stared at Spain's cheerful, matter-of-fact face. "You… you've been there?"

"Of course!~"

"Why is it that I seem to be out of every loop tonight?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know a lot of things, do you?"

"I know a lot of things, too. I know what's beyond that hole."

"I'm assuming there's more there than rat poo and other crap."

"Oh, there's _lots_ more." Spain's hand drifted down from Romano's cheek (whoa, he hadn't realized it was still there) and gently took his hand. He nodded to the nutcrackers, and they all sprang down from their various positions and marched to the unconscious Turkey, lifting him up, and marching him away.

"Where're they taking him?" Romano asked.

Spain shrugged. "Wherever they want to. They'll probably dump him out the front door."

And that was it hit Romano full-force. He'd just awoken to find himself the size of a rat, been threatened by a king of rats, and defended by Spain… and an army of candy cane-wielding nutcrackers. "How… how is this all happening?" he whispered. "I mean, us shrinking, nutcrackers coming to life, rats talking…and… and _you_… the nutcracker Prussia gave me… you look just like it… "

"It's Christmas Eve." Spain grinned, eyes sparkling. "Anything can happen, right? Let's go, Lovi."

And before Romano could protest, they stepped into the hole.


	3. From Snow to Sugar

_The music for the snow scene is one of my favorite pieces ever. Seriously, you're life isn't complete until you've heard it, but I'm sure all of you have, at some point or another, unless you've been, like, hiding at the bottom of a garden pond since birth or something._

_Oh... and while you're searching youtube to revel in the awesomeness that is Snow Scene, look up the music for Entrance to the Kingdom of the Sweets; that's the music I wrote the last bit of this chapter to. :D  
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><p>It was dark. (<em>Duh.)<em>

It was slightly damp. (_Ick_.)

It was a little cramped, but tall enough that they didn't have to bend down to walk.

Thankfully, there seemed to be a lack of rat poo. At least that Romano was stepping on.

Their footsteps echoed off the stone floor, ricocheting off the cold walls of the rat tunnel. Spain was gently swinging their hands back and forth a little, and for once, Romano didn't protest, because having someone's hand in his _did_… u-uh… c-comfort him a bit.

It _was_ rather dark, after all.

Though Romano was burning with a dozen different questions, they walked in silence; it might have been the fact that he had no idea how to put them into words. Of course, there was that one question he could phrase that Spain absolutely _refused_ to answer clearly.

Maybe if he said the p-word…

"Would you _p-please_ just tell me where we're going, already?"

Spain chuckled. "Like I said. We're going to some _wonderful_ places, and we'll see lots of _wonderful_ people and _wonderful_ things."

"What _kind_ of wonderful places and people and things?" Romano demanded impatiently. This was the _third_ time already, dammit.

"Well, I don't want to give away the places and things— it's _much_ nicer as a surprise!— but I can tell you that these people are all _very_ nice. Some I've seen recently, some not so much, but I'm sure you'll like them very much."

"R-recently? Don't tell me you actually fight rats and skip through this tunnel every time you visit Austria's house."

"I don't.~"

Romano glanced at him, and was surprised that he could actually discern the mysterious smile on his face. He squinted ahead, and saw a bright pinprick of light signifying the end of the tunnel. He began to notice a steady dropping of the temperature, as well. The closer they got, the brighter and colder the tunnel became, until Romano was squinting as the brightness engulfed them.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, and it took even longer for him to realize they were actually functioning properly, because all he could see…

… was white.

Stark, featureless white, although after a few more moments he was able to make out ever so subtle lines of shadow that signified a gently rolling landscape.

"Welcome to the Land of Snow, Lovi," Spain whispered.

Romano shivered, involuntarily shifting a bit closer to the other's warmth. "So… I've seen the _wonderful_ Land of Snow. Can we go back, now?"

Spain laughed. "Of course, not! Wait a few more seconds. They should be here any time now…"

Romano opened his mouth to ask, "_Who?__"_ but was cut off when the _who_ in question arrived. He was left gaping, his breath clouding visibly.

Thirteen reindeer were pulling a very familiar looking sleigh, tinkling with dozens of golden bells. In fact, Romano would have thought that Santo had for some inexplicable reason shrunken and relocated his Christmas operation, except that the sleigh was white and gold instead of red, and where the jolly old guy would've been sitting with a big, red sack, there were two blonde nations and a little white dog.

Spain started waving excitedly, then apparently thought better of it, stepping into a deep bow as Sweden and Finland gracefully dismounted the sleigh and nodded courteously. Romano didn't budge. "W-who?" he asked, teeth vibrating.

"The Snow King and Queen," Spain murmured, straightening his posture. "Please bow, Lovi."

"Qu-_queen_?" He bowed anyways, quickly and a little awkwardly.

"Welcome to the Land of Snow!" Finland said brightly, smiling as if the temperature wasn't below freezing. "Oh, dear, you look cold. Um, Sweden, would you please get him one of the parkas in the back?"

"Th-that would be much appreciated, thanks," Romano muttered. He was almost too cold to notice the affectionate way Spain took the snow-white parka from Sweden and gently placed it around his shoulders. He was a little too cold to care about anything other than how _ohsowonderfully_ warm his entire torso suddenly felt when he slipped his arms in the sleeves.

"It is a great honor to be welcomed by Their Majesties themselves." Spain bounced on his toes a little to keep warm.

'_Their__Majesties__'_? Was that even a proper court adressment?

"The honor is all mine," Finland replied cordially. Sweden nodded, looking a little bored, as if Spanish nutcracker/soldier/nations in bright red uniforms (that stood out rather starkly amongst the white landscape, by the way) toting grumpy Italians were ordinary business.

Romano, too, was getting a little sick of the respectful cordialities.

"I know you are just passing by, on your way to the Kingdom of the Sweets. Perhaps you would like a ride?"

_Kingdom__of__the__Sweets_… hm, was it just him, or had he heard that somewhere before? Come to think of it, the Land of the Snow sounded kinda familiar, too…

"It would be a great honor, your majesty." And before Romano could thoroughly root around in his brain, trying to figure out where he'd heard those phrases, Spain had lightly taken his fingers. Romano only realized he was being helped into the sleigh after he was already halfway in. Scowling, he snatched his hand away, primly sitting down by himself.

"I can get in and out of a sleigh myself, _thanks_."

"If you say so, Lovi. ~" Spain sat down next to him in the backseat, directly behind Sweden. Finland took the reins.

Apparently, the Snow King (Queen? King? Oh, who the hell cares) and Spain knew each other. They began chatting happily ("Yeah, so things have been pretty calm here! Hey, did you hear the Rose King's been trying to hit on some of my snow maidens lately?" "When is he _not_?" "Well, we weren't happy about that, so we've banned him from this land for a year…" "I heard the peppermints have been taking an interest in the tea!" "Yes, isn't that odd?") as the reindeer pulled them along the snow, steadily picking up speed. Romano began to see that the terrain was not as featureless as it first appeared. A snow-covered pine forest emerged as they came to the crest of the first hill. At the same time, the reindeer launched into the air, which Romano was totally unprepared for, and therefore slammed against the seat back. He swore under his breath and rubbed his neck.

The Spanish nation/soldier/nutcracker broke off his conversation to give him a concerned look. "Are you okay, Lovi?"

"Sorry about that," Finland apologized. "They tend to take off abruptly."

"I see," said Romano, with just a hint of sarcasm. Not too much, though, because this guy/Queen/whatever was pretty nice. "I'm fine."

They resumed their conversation, the little dog ("Hanatamago", they called him) bouncing back and forth between Sweden and Finland's laps, apparently unconcerned that they were at least a hundred meters in the air. Romano peered down over the edge of the sleigh, hands gripping the silver lip firmly. He watched the vast, seemingly endless landscape of white fields and pine forests zoom past, and decided it was rather pretty, actually…

…and then the first snowflake appeared.

Romano didn't pay much attention at first. They were the size and color of normal snowflakes, and they moved the same way. Then, Spain said excitedly, "Oh, there she is!"

With a "_she_".

The weird choice of pronoun suddenly made sense when he took a closer look at a snowflake that had landed on the rim of the sleigh.

Romano found himself face-to-tiny-face with a little fairy-ish human in a delicate white dress. Her hands were on her hips, and she was defiantly staring back with equal curiosity.

Surprise, surprise, Romano thought dryly. He'd been finding it a little difficult to be startled as of late.

Spain leaned over his shoulder. "Oh, she's so pretty!~"

Similar snowflake/snowfairies/whatever had landed around the sleigh. One perched itself on Hanatamago's nose. He sneezed. She sprang away, and started cursing in some language that sounded like Finnish. The snowflake in front of Romano giggled, then swan-dived off the sleigh to join her friends.

"They _are_ pretty," Romano agreed, without really thinking. He was kinda too mesmerized by the dancing flurries of snow swirling around him to worry about little things like making uncharacteristic remarks.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, traveling through the air, but before he knew it, the trees were getting bigger and bigger (he had a nasty flash of déjà vu) and the ground was quickly approaching. They landed smoothly, right at the edge of the snow. In front of them, a happy, colorful world loomed. Standing on the edge of two lands was like standing on the crack in the middle of two pages of a picture book.

"This is as far as our domain extends," Finland called from the sleigh. "We wish you pleasant travels in the Kingdom of the Sweets!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Spain bowed. Romano followed. _Might__as__well_.

They waved as the sleigh lifted off into the air and elegantly turned, heading back to the heart of the Land of Snow.

"Well."

Spain turned to face him, a happy, excited grin on his face. "Yes, Lovi?"

"It… it was interesting." Romano nodded, struggling to keep his own twitching lips under control. "And… fun. A little. A little fun."

Spain beamed. "I'm so glad. The Land of Snow is very beautiful, but it's also a little boring… compared to the Kingdom of the Sweets."

Romano lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really." Spain pointed towards the multi-colored hills. "See that palace? That's known as the Hall of the Sweets."

"Clever name." Romano squinted, and sure enough, there was a brightly colored structure standing proudly just before the fields of… well, Romano couldn't tell _exactly_ what these fields were, but anyways, fields of… _something_ became hilly.

"Did you know it's made completely out of candy? In fact, most things in this kingdom are totally edible!~"

Romano frowned, glancing down at the minty-green grass. "You're kidding me."

"I'm not." Spain grinned. "You'll meet lots of lovely sweets there, Lovi."

"'_Meet__'__?__' _Don't you meant '_see_', or '_taste__'_?"

"I meant _meet_. I don't think they'd like it very much if you tasted them…~"

"What do you mean?" Romano demanded.

"You'll see." Spain took his hand, only for Romano to jerk it away.

"Tell me what you mean, dammit!"

"You'll see, you'll see! I promise it'll be worth the wait. Especially since the first display is…"

"_Is__…__?_" Romano's patience was starting to wear _really_ thin, now. Bastard was pushing it…

"…is my specialty! Let's go!"

Grinning like a kid in Candyland, Spain gently but firmly took Romano's hand and began skipping through the edible fields of sweets.

* * *

><p><em>Any ideas on who to cast as the Sugar Plum Fairy would be much appreciated. Francis is already busy messing with roses. ;D<br>_


	4. Sweet Sweets

...

I have no idea what the bloody hell happened to this page.

I'll get it sorted out as soon as I can. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this little story, and I'm so sorry about this...bloop-in-the-system.

...

*cries*

...

As much as I liked this chapter (which I can't really say for some other stuff I write), since this story is based on the Nutcracker and everyone knows about all the dancing that went on in the Land of the Sweets, yadda yadda, if you'd like, you can move right along to the fifth and final chapter!~

And, yes, France is His Highness the Great and Venerable Rose Queen.

Or King.

Heck, it don't matter; this be Hetalia, yeah?


	5. Waltz La La

_Ukulala Studios now presents the final portion of "The Nutcracker"._

_*curtsies*_

* * *

><p>"…negotiations are always <em>so<em> much harder with the prettier ones…"

Would the fuckface's mouth ever shut up?

"... and then the lilies demanded more land along the river, but the cattails refused to budge, and those reeds are _so_ adorable I simply could _not_ bring myself to force them, so of course the lilies got all pissy and they weren't _nearly_ as lovely with their faces all pinched up…"

Romano kicked at a red and white pebble, sending it flying into a random patch of clover. It seemed to frown at him as he walked by. He scowled back.

Spain was listening to the Frenchman's chatter, and though his hand was still holding Romano's gently (sh-shut up, it wasn't like Romano _liked_ it, but it was pointless to pull away, really), he was paying much more attention to France.

Not that Romano cared.

But still.

It was annoying, dammit.

A cream-colored butterfly (made of butter, the Frenchie claimed) fluttered by. They were on a ridiculously happy little path through a charming, sunlit meadow. Though there were flowers everywhere, and they'd been walking for what felt like _hours_, and Romano couldn't believe they weren't yet in the actual Land of the Flowers.

"Ah, here we are!~"

Or maybe they were.

About time, too.

A pink petal floated out of nowhere, landing on his nose. He looked up to see a few more petals drifting out of the sky, joined by more and more until there were too many to count.

It was actually rather pretty.

He sniggered at Spain, whose head seemed to be a landing pad for a bunch of them. "Oi, bastard, you've got pink shit in your hair."

Spain laughed. "You, too, Lovino.~"

Oh.

Scowling, Romano brushed them quickly off his head. "So… we're finally here. Now, what?"

A picnic basket with red-and-white checkered lining floated out of nowhere, carried by two fairy-like things in cute flower dresses. France took it in both hands, delicately kissing each fairy. "Merci beaucoup, mes chers." He turned smugly towards the other two. "You are both very hungry after such a long walk, _non_? Martinique and Guianna have prepared us a lovely meal."

"Yeah," Romano admitted, though he eyed the basket warily (no trusting anything French), as Spain excitedly exclaimed, "Si!"

xxxxx

"This is your last stop here, isn't it?"

Romano had been uncharacteristically silent throughout their merry romp in the Land of Flowers. Maybe it was because of the all the distracting little flowers, dancing to a pretty little melody wafting from France's iPod, which was laying a little ways away on the grass. The three of them were sitting on a checkered blanket in the grass, surrounded by swirling blossoms (that kinda reminded him of Snow and its snow) and leaping blooms.

He idly wondered when "blossoms" and "blooms" had entered his vocabulary. Huh. Must have been that Spanish idiot rubbing off on him.

In any case, he was fine with letting Spain carry on the conversation, though he was still kinda pissed that Spain was paying Romano less attention.

"Ah… yes. Yes, it is. It's a lovely final destination, though. Thank you very much, Francis."

"It _is_ lovely, isn't it?" France sighed contentedly, leaning back on one elbow and staring off into the distance, a glass of wine in his other hand. "Everyone wants to be like us. Poor Angleterre. His lands are so vast, but his _taste_… ugh. He has absolutely _no_ sense of style."

"Are you enjoying yourself, Lovi?"

Romano looked up from the grass, where he was lazily playing with a giggling daisy, not paying much attention to the conversation. "Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess."

"I'm glad, mi querido."

"I keep telling you to stop calling me that, stupid. When the hell are you ever going to listen?"

Spain smiled, reclining onto his back with his hands behind his head, staring serenely up at Romano. "Never."

Romano looked away. His face felt warm. "Bastard."

When the piece ended, the flowers burst into the air in a final eruption of color, then settled back to the ground and started doing normal flower-ish things, like poking at the dirt or smiling at the sky or winking lasciviously at the nations. Another piece started, slow and beautiful but a little sad, like… like the last tomato on the vine. Or something.

Romano hadn't noticed Spain getting up until he rested a hand on his shoulder, eyes shining hopefully. "May I have this dance?"

"I don't even know how," Romano scoffed. "And this music's too dull."

"The music will get really good really soon," Spain assured him. "As for you not knowing how to dance… that's the silliest thing I've ever heard. Of course you know how to dance. It's in your blood."

"B-but—" Romano looked around wildly for a someone's-going-to-see-us excuse, but the only other person around was busy applying makeup to a trio of roses.

"France won't bother us," Spain supplied helpfully. "He doesn't care, anyways."

Romano frowned. "_I_ care. I'm not like Feliciano."

"No, you're not," Spain agreed determinedly. "Somewhere deep inside, you're much more passionate. I'm going to bring that out."

And before Romano had time to sneer or crinkle up his face at those stupid, sweet words, he found himself gliding across the happy-idyllic meadow, led by a firm Spaniard in a series of steps, turns, and possibly even a leap. His heart was too busy thumping like a herd of stampeding ostriches to register the shock and indignance he would've felt otherwise. "O-oi, bastard, what-are-you—"

Spain shushed his weak protests by spinning him into a decidedly girly (but cool-feeling) pirouette. "Sh, Lovi. Breathe. Feel the _pas de deux_."

"Y-you're talking like a fucking Frenchie…"

"Unfortunately, that's the language of ballet."

"Is that what we're doing right now? Ballet?"

"Yup!~ It's cool, huh?"

"I-I guess…"

"And you know what's even cooler?"

"Huh."

"Dancing with you, mi corazon."

"…sh-shut up, idiot."

A few minutes later they collapsed into the grass with the last leap, Romano's chest rising and falling rapidly with exertion and thrill. It felt good.

Spain rolled over onto his side. "Feel okay?"

Romano gave a tiny nod. Better than okay.

They lay like that for a while, resting. The silence wasn't uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Spain's eyes widened. "Um, Lovi, what are you doing?"

"Hm? What are you talking about?" Romano was staring up at the cotton-candy clouds, which were looking weirdly fuzzy. He turned to look at Spain, then rubbed his eyes. "Whoa. There's something wrong with my eyes."

"Me, too..." Spain looked anguished. "… or maybe… Mierda, I thought we were going to have more time…"

"What?" Romano's voice rose. "What the hell are you talking about?" Spain's face was getting fuzzier. He reached out to grab him, but his hand went straight through. _The fuck?_

"I'll see you soon, though." Spain smiled softly. "Farewell for now, mi querido."

Francis was running over, appearing as little more than an indistinct blur of blue and blonde. "_Au_ _revoir_, Romano! I hope you enjoyed your stay! Come back and visit whenever you like!~"

Everything was fading. Everything was getting dull and blurry, and soon Romano couldn't even make out the outline of Spain's face. The flowers seemed to be waving at him, and then, at the edges of his sight, Sweets, snowflakes, and finally a few mice, before darkness set in, spreading from his periphery and overtaking his vision.

"Fu- wha—"

"VEEEEEEEE! IT'S CHRISTMAS!"

Romano's eyes snapped open as Feliciano vaulted over him and the couch, making a beeline for the presents under the tree. "F-Feli?"

"Buon Natale, Lovi! Ve, what are you doing on the couch? Were you up waiting for Babbo Natale?" Italy giggled. "I thought you didn't believe in him anymore but it's great that you do because _I_ sure do and oooohhh, look how many presents I have this year!~"

"Merry Christmas, Roma!~" Romano turned to see Hungary skipping down the stairs, followed by a faintly smiling Austria. "Go on and open your presents. You're not leaving until after breakfast."

"Uh, Merry Christmas." Romano looked around. "Where's Spain?"

"Hm? Oh, he's still asleep, I guess. He stayed up pretty late, wrapping presents at the last minute or something."

"Hey, maybe _he's_ Babbo Natale!~"

"No, silly, that's Finland.~"

Romano was getting a bit of a headache from all these happy tildes floating around. Muttering something about needing to use the restroom, he made for the stairs, slowly stomping his way up each step. At the top, he ran into a warm wall that immediately wrapped him in a warm hug.

"Merry Christmas, Lovino!"

Romano looked up. "Oh, it's you. Merry Christmas to you, too, bastard."

"What's with this name-calling so early in the morning, mi amor?"

Romano blushed. "I'm _not_ your 'amor'. Which reminds me. I had a really weird-ass dream last night."

"Really?" Spain looked interested, but then again, it never took much to interest him. "Was I in it?"

"Actually…" Romano briefly considered lying, then decided it didn't make much difference. "…yeah."

"I was?" Spain exclaimed excitedly.

"Didn't I just _say_ you were, idiot?"

"Was I totally, mind-blowingly sexy?" Spain was eagerly bouncing up and down, which was a little awkward, since his arms were still wrapped tightly around the Italian.

"No," Romano lied. "You were… I don't know _what_ the fuck you were, to be honest."

"Yeah?"

"You were either a soldier or a nutcracker or, now that I come to think of it, you could have been one of those random little fairies, except you weren't little. Some of the fairies were normal us-sized, though, like England—" the memory of the purple sparkles came rushing back to him, and he bit back the urge to shriek "—and those butterscotch-or-whatever fairies—"

"England showed up in your dream as a fairy?" Spain's grin was so wide, it looked about to fall off his face.

"Yeah, a sugar plum fairy, and getting in our way when we tried to enter the Land of Sweets. Annoying as always. I think Finland was there, too—"

"You saw Santa?"

"Stop interrupting me, bastard!" Romano yelled. "Listen to my goddamn story! Yes, Finland was there, but he was the Snow Queen."

"This is one weird-ass dream."

"Like I said. And Turkey… Turkey was there, too. He had an army of mice, and he tried to kidnap me. Again."

"Oh? And then what?"

"You came with your army of nutcrackers and whooped their asses back through the mouse hole. And then we went through the mouse hole, which was _your_ idea, by the way."

"I came up with the idea of following Turkey and his rats into the mouse hole?"

"It was ridiculous. Even by your standards. But anyway, that's when the rest of the shit happened," Romano finished, taking a breath. "So, yeah."

Spain cocked his head. "That sounds twisted enough to be one of Russia's weird ballets."

"Sure does…" Romano muttered.

Sounds of ecstatic present opening were starting to reach them from downstairs.

"And then," he continued, "just when it was getting… really… n-nice, I woke up."

"'Nice'?" Spain asked. "What were you doing?"

"Well, um…"

There was an exclamation of joy from the parlor. Austria had just unwrapped a Stradivarius violin, and immediately began playing something that Italy apparently knew, because he immediately took his mouth out of a giant tub of pasta and began singing.

"…u-um…" Romano stammered, not sure he wanted to continue his sentence, but he did anyway. "…we were dancing. Can we d-do that right now, actually?"

He had expected him to laugh or tease, but Spain's face was deadly serious with just a hint of a happy smile as he whispered, "Of course, Lovino. Your nutcracker would love to dance with you whenever you like."

Romano reddened further, a lump forming in his throat. Oh, god, that expression... "G-good. I mean, j-just today, of course, and just because it's Christmas." He paused. "Oh, by the way, Merry Christmas."

"And to you.~"

"Y-yeah, so… L-let's dance."

FIN

* * *

><p><em>Thank you, dear Mr. Tchaikovsky, for your brilliant music. I hope that somewhere you are getting a kick out of this fic, and not rolling over in your grave (but you're cool, so I'm sure it's the former).<em>

_Review, yeah? After that, make sure to go to check out (youtube)/watch?v=Cg1dMpu4v7M._

_Have a lovely day!_

_^_^;;;  
><em>


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